Shiver
by Akane Miata
Summary: A cold winter night in a dying world - a glimpse at Ranma and Akane in a post-apocalyptic future.


..:shiver:..

A little post-apocalyptic Ranma/Akane. Because Dog knows there's just not enough.   
  
for s-sama. always   
-----   
  
The room was bathed in an ethereal blue glow, the crusted motel windows filtering dirty moonlight in shattered beams across a meager collection of furniture. 

They'd gotten the room for free, courtesy of the motel owner's wife, cowering in the corner once Ranma had punched her husband out. After the portly old man had mistakenly believed Akane to be a prostitute, his emaciated wife had thought it prudent that the two battered but apparently still vigorous teenagers be given a room free of charge, upstairs and to the left, thanks and would they like complimentary mints?

Their unit didn't seem too bad off, considering unit number 3 no longer had a door, and unit number 5 looked to have only recently been on fire. They had lucky number 4. Akane'd mumbled a sardonic nothing on the appropriateness of that before shoving into the room and mechanically inspecting what passed as the bathroom. Dissatisfied with the results, she instead lurked in the direction of the tv, plopping herself on the edge of the bed to fiddle with the dials. 

The door closed behind Ranma with a soft click as he wearily leaned against it. He slid to the ground and leaned forward to rest his head between his bent knees, allowing himself a moment's respite from the hell outside. One hand absently ran up his chest, over his heart, rubbing at the inexplicable pain. 

Voices breaking through the static brought his head back up to look at Akane and her fruitful efforts with the tv, as a shaky news report appeared. More deaths. Communication with Singapore, Germany and Russia lost, adding to the ever-growing list. More services letting the country know that they would no longer be available. Evacuation instructions. 

Ranma stopped listening. Scoffed at the ridiculousness of a lone tv station continuing to transmit such useless information. At the stupid news lady sitting out there somewhere, in her pristine little suit, drawling out platitudes and painfully obvious statements. At the feeble requests for everyone to remain calm, but their fucking country was under attack by "unconfirmed terrorists" and they'd better leave yesterday, in case they hadn't noticed. 

The country was screwed? No shit. Mass evacuation? It'd get taken down, just like the previous attempts. Mass slaughter, more like it. 

He turned his attention to Akane, instead. A far more interesting -- and comforting -- something to watch. She'd grown tired of the report as well, and had emptied the contents of her small pack all over the room's single bed. Gauze and disinfectant they had raided from an abandoned hospital littered the rough brown comforter thrown haphazardly across the mattress. With swift, practiced measures, Akane snatched one of the motel pillows and tore off its case, soaking it with clear liquid from one of their water bottles. 

Sitting cross-legged with her back to the foot of the bed and her supplies lined up to her liking, she didn't hesitate before pulling her shirt off over her head. Ranma quickly averted his gaze, struggling to control his body's reaction before looking up again. It wasn't hard, considering she was now deftly tearing off the three large bandages covering her midsection, below her simple bra. At least the wounds were no longer green, though the television cast a sickly hue over the claw marks as she scrubbed at them with the disinfectant. 

Finishing quickly, Akane moved on to the gouges on the soft skin of her left underarm, and then to a final slash along her neck where a large piece of shrapnel had embedded itself a week and a half ago. Deep breaths of icy air were all that kept Ranma from being ill as Akane deftly dug out an errant sliver of metal from a newly discovered gash along the top of her right breast. 

Squeezing his eyes shut against unexpected tears, he rubbed at his face with the heel of his palms, fighting off a growing realization. 

He couldn't protect her. 

He couldn't _fucking_ protect her. 

He'd murdered a god for her, blown away half the dojo to keep her safe, gone to levels of skill and power he hadn't realized he'd been capable of, and she was still fucking sitting there, half mutilated, and her continued life was of no thanks to him. 

She'd taken them out by chance -- their stupidity and underestimations and her steadfast wit had got him, Ryouga, and Kasumi all out of the raid alive -- more or less. Kasumi had died of an infection less than two days later -- prompting Akane's new obsession with cleanliness and hospital raids -- and Ryouga had been made slow by blood loss. 

A soft -- very soft -- hiccup escaped him as flashes of their dead friends and family skirted his imagination. He bit back the second sob as a bitter sense of uselessness nearly overwhelmed him. They'd gotten separated from Ryouga nearly a week ago, and hadn't seen any sign of him since. They hadn't really held out hope. 

Constantly on the move, trying to catch wind of where it was safe to go, Ranma had long since given up any ideas of being heroic, trying to take these things out. He had just the one priority, and with the absence of the distractions, a sickening clarity on just how hopeless things were starting to look. 

The world was no longer a friendly place to be, for neither man nor beast could be trusted at this point. A girl lacking Akane's strength would simply be raped by the common man now found wandering the cities of Japan -- an honorable man would perhaps pay her afterwards for her services. Surviving this, said girl would promptly be murdered by one of the Craven, during their unpredictable raids. And a girl possessing Akane's strength? Fuck. _Fuck._ How long could they keep this up? 

He was gonna lose her. And that'd be it. He'd be done. He'd just... cease. A dark, quiet, selfish voice at the back of his mind told him to be done with it all now. To stop running, to stop fighting, to just be with Akane like he wanted, quietly curl up against her and hold her and wait for the end to come. Better that than have her snatched away one day, when his guard was down. Better that than to die alone. 

Cold, wet cotton above his brow brought a large cut to his attention as the sting brought his thoughts crashing back to the present. Akane sat kneeling in front of him, her shirt thankfully covering her wounds once again. Her expression was softer than he'd seen in longer than he could recall. In the background, the tv babbled a replay of its earlier newscast -- a newscast he realized was probably days old. Huh. So maybe pristine newscast lady _wasn't_ out there this very second with her little suit. She was probably dead, inane platitudes and all. 

But he really didn't give a shit. He could feel the heat radiating off of Akane, as she eyed him clinically and moved on to his ankle, which was partly the reason he hadn't made it much past the door. 

"Did you break it?" She asked, her voice hoarse and tired. 

He shook his head, eyes drifting closed seemingly of their own volition. _Just don't stop touching me,_ he didn't say, but the sensation of her warm hands on his ankle soon left, to be replaced by a hospital compress, with a chemical chilling gel. 

"Cold," he croaked, shaking his head to clear it of the fog. 

"It'll keep the swelling down." 

He wanted to tell her that wasn't what he meant, and wanted to go on and tell her a whole lot more than that. Things like, 'We don't have time...' and 'pleasedon'tleaveme,' and a few other half-formed thoughts in his brain that made his heart lurch, even after all the death and blood they'd seen. Too fucking much of it had been hers. Her family. Her blood. Lost to the mouth of hell that had opened up to suck Japan into its depths. 

Apparently an apocalypse makes an Akane telepathic, because her burning hands restore the contact, though this time to his neck. His eyes slide open again to search hers. He idly wonders how she manages to keep so warm while he feels nothing but ice, but then his thoughts immediately evacuate as Akane leans in. His heartbeat accelerates, and his hands begin to reach out for her, before she chastely presses her lips to his cold forehead. His hands fall back to his lap and he ignores the waves of disappointment surging through him. 

Still, she notices his discomfort. Hopefully she won't misinterpret it, because they just don't have time for any goddamn fallouts or estrangements or fights. They don't have time for any of it, and how would she not know, anyway? 

_I really fucking love you. If you go first, I'm slitting my wrists a heartbeat after yours stops._

If she really had become psychic (Ranma's delirium-addled brain ooh'ed and aw'ed at the coolness of that idea) she showed no reaction to his heartfelt inner monologue. The throbbing in his chest persisted, and he absently rubbed at it again, wondering if maybe letting his mouth go and releasing all his inner fears and confessions would ease the pain. 

Her arm slides around his waist, but there's no intimacy in the touch. She helps him to stand, and together they hobble over to the shoddy motel bed that will be their stop for the night. Dropping him not ungently onto the bed, she methodically repacks her bag, taking care not to jar her injuries. 

"Wait... the hell? 'kane, you're hurt. Stop moving so much. I can do all that for yeh." So fucking cold. It felt like he was moving through ice. And the damn fog wouldn't leave his brain. 

Akane just smiled distractedly at him and went to drop her pack by Ranma's at the door. Briefly disappearing into the bathroom, she came out a moment later with two full water bottles nestled in her arms. Her movements seemed a little frantic and hurried as she shuffled back over to the bed, wincing occasionally at the discomfort beneath the dressings. 

Ranma sat, scowling in frustration at his body's inactivity. He was so fucking _useless._ He had a few cuts and scrapes, and a sprained ankle, while Akane was puttering around doing fuck-knows-what with a few stab wounds and a nearly beheaded head. Ranma giggled a bit to himself at his silliness, and only returned his attention to Akane when she pushed him over to land on the bed, sprawled on his back. 

Ridiculously, his mind went to a very nice place that involved Akane climbing on top of him and giving him his first real kiss and more, but he snapped back into focus when she bunched up both of the bed's pillows and shoved them under his legs, after wrenching the blankets out from under him and throwing them over him. 

_Huh. When did she do that?_ He wondered absently, shivering a little despite the blankets. Akane left his field of vision, causing his heart to tighten painfully, though it had already been hurting a moment before anyway. A loud guttural choking nearly shocked the fog clear away, but there Akane was again, looking just as calm and pretty as she had before. 

"Drink," she said, calmly, though her hands were shaking as she handed him a bottle. 

"M'not thirsty." Finally, his curiosity getting the better of him, he peered up at her intently from his position on the bed, which he'd noticed had been lowered considerably -- the upper half of him, anyway. More soft things had been placed under him, to raise up his lower body. He still felt cold. But still with the curious. 

"Why can't I see straight?" 

Akane gave him a weak smile and her 

_wonderfulburningbeautifulcalmingaddictive _

touch returned to run across his forehead, leaving pinpricks of feeling and warmth in their wake. 

"I think you're in shock," was all she said, before forcing him to drink the water he really didn't want. 

_Funny,_ he thought, as he forced his frozen throat to work its way around more ice. _You'd think something like that would worry me._

"Oh," was all he said, before taking the initiative and grabbing -- well, clutching desperately -- at her hand. 

"I'm really fucking cold." Despite this, he made a strange observation. "You're shivering." 

Akane's eyes closed briefly against a shininess he'd just noticed in them. "Keep drinking. I'm supposed to keep you hydrated and warm, I think." The ancient guttural choking in the background finally registered with him as the heater. 

"Oh," he said again. Then, after a beat, "M'still cold." Somehow this seemed to make _her_ shivering worse, which further distressed him. To make up for it, he dutifully downed the rest of the icy water that bit its way inside of him. She seemed pleased with that, but her warmth left him and his needy hand to return with the other bottle, to which he vehemently shook his head at. 

Her deep, pained breath sent sharper, far brighter stabs of pain through him. If only he weren't so fucking _cold._ The moon's relentless light and the flickering tv playing the same stupid newscast again cast a blue glow on the otherwise dark room, making everything seem frosted over, allowing the cold to dig a little deeper into him. The fog felt like it was turning into fucking ice crystals. 

"Ranma." Her voice was sharp and angry, and only when his eyes shot open did he realize they'd shut again. 

"Look at me." 

He obediently kept his gaze on her angry -- scared? -- eyes, and watched the fire drain from them. _Wait,_ he wanted to say, but his throat had apparently closed down for the night. _Fire good._

"Just... try not to go to sleep, alright?" 

He nodded, though his eyes were glazed with confusion. She sighed in response. 

"I'm not really sure what would happen to you if you lost consciousness. Just..." Her voice broke off and she paused to take another one of those shuddering breaths. "Crap," she whispered, and the shininess was back in full force. "I don't know how to fix you." 

He tried to shake his head, shrug, do something to assure her that he was gonna bounce back any second, he just needed to rest for second, but his body didn't respond. Instead, all he managed was to tug pathetically at the hem of her shirt. 

She seemed to understand, and scooted a little closer to sit near his head. His lips quirked up in a smile, and he pressed his cold cheek against her thigh. Her warmth and smell seemed to burn some of the fog away, so he managed to keep his gaze locked onto hers, though his vision was a little clouded. 

Akane vacantly kept her hand running up and down his arm, the shininess gone and replaced with her usual determination. "Just stay with me, okay?" 

He nodded, or at least imagined he did, because suddenly the fuzz on the edge of his vision seemed to close in and the last thing he remembered was the reassuring scent of his only ally. 

------ 

Akane let out a laugh that was possibly a sob. Her eyes locked onto the rank wallpaper a few inches from her face as she felt the pressure on her thigh go slack. Deep breaths. In, out. Not too hard. Very studiously keeping her mind numb to all other thoughts, she contemplated the little blue crisscrosses running up the wall, illuminated by the tv and the open blinds. A wry smile found its way onto her face as the newscast cut off from the screen and was replaced by an uplifting Jingle Bells. 

"Merry Christmas to us," she whispered, eyes fighting the tears that had been lurking just behind their depths ever since they'd found themselves very much alone. 

Her mind unwillingly went to a Very Bad Place, as she wondered what to do if Ranma didn't wake up. Maybe he _was_ just exhausted, and he'd perk right back up after a few hours of sleep. They'd been running for, what? Three and half weeks? 24 days since the hole had split open and began hurling Craven into their unprepared midst. 26 days since a withered old man had appeared on their doorstep, spewing nonsense about prophecies and chosen ones and power she supposedly had. Power, kept from her by a Master So-and-So in City something-or-other. The old man had been one of the first to go. 

Pulling away from Ranma's coolness, she found herself staring out the opaque window and at the blurry world beyond. Desolate, that's what it was. And this area hadn't even been hit too hard. Yet. They had to be nearing Japan's southern border by now. _Make it there by New Year's_, the old man had grunted, _and you'll find your way out._ So off they went, to try and catch the passage to safety. The passage to the city in southern California that held the key to this hellish nightmare the world had become. Except everyone appeared to be dead. So that just _really_ wasn't working out. 

A harsh cough wracked her body, as she leaned down to crank up the heater to its fullest power setting. It spent a few moments poised on indecision, unsure whether to acquiesce to her request or to just sputter out and die. Perhaps it felt it really was the season to be jolly, for it then began blasting out hot air at a far more energetic pace. 

She sighed and closed the blinds, longing to forget. Forget pain. Forget the family she'd never see again. Forget the hope she knew she still held that Ryouga was still out there, alive. Forget that her only remaining companion was possibly in a coma, freezing to death while his internal organs shut down. Forget the watery eyes he'd been giving her only minutes ago, the wet longing and the _please fuck me_ droop in his eyelids and curve of his mouth. 

Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up as a fresh wave of panic coursed through her, and she uneasily stumbled back towards the bed.

"We're not gonna make it, are we?" She asked conversationally as she stared down at Ranma, a suspicious numbness creeping up her limbs. Shivering uncontrollably, she climbed under the covers and burrowed against his cold body, listening to the slow, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. She willed her heat to sink into him, and willed the heater to last through the frozen night, until Christmas morning. Willed the Craven to not attack this town tonight, to not find them so soon.

Willed Ranma to wake the fuck up. 

Shivering harder against Ranma's stiff body, she finally lost the battle to exhaustion and felt sleep coat her body, fear and hopelessness temporarily lost in the quiet oblivion. 

---- 

end. 

---- 

a.n: That was _really_ not what I meant it to be. For one, didn't plan to post it here, because it was going to be _gasp_ smut. But alas. Apparently I wasn't in the mood.  
  
Maybe I'll fix it up someday, and make it into a proper one-shot, without the awkward pacing and the build-up that leads into nothing. Or maybe i'll fiddle with it until it has the potential for a real story. *shrugs* Iono. Hope it was liked anyway.  
happy holidays! 


End file.
